What's On a Mind
by explodingduck
Summary: Abby paused for a second, contemplating what to say, it seemed. "But do you know what she really is?" He shook his head. "Hurt. It's just easier to be angry. It's always easier to be angry." Stephen/Abby oneshot.


At exactly 3:52 AM a soft noise woke him up from his dreamless sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, only to find that he had fallen asleep on his desk; his back was sore and his cheek warm and sweaty from being pressed against the dark wood.  
It took him about a minute to realise that what had so mercilessly woken him up in such early hours was the ringing of his cell phone, lying about somewhere in the office. The blinds were shut and the office dark, but by sleepily heading in the general direction of the tune, he located the phone in the pocket of his coat.

"Hullo?" he whispered with a hoarse voice as he sat down on the sofa and rubbed his eyes.

"Stephen?" asked his girlfriend hesitantly. He suddenly realised what he had done. _He had forgotten to go home. _He was suddenly wide awake.

"Oh crap, I am so sorry, darling, I fell asleep at the office,"

There was a moment of silence. "I figured."

"I'm sorry," he apologised again, although he knew it would do no good. His girlfriend was great in many ways, but when it came to forgiving, it took time. On the other hand, not coming home was cruel, even for him.

"Yeah." said she, and he could hear how tired she was.

"Have you slept?" he asked with an undertone of worry. Insomnia was never a good sign.

"No."

"Because I wasn't there?"

"Mhm."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

He sighed loudly and leaned against the armrest of the sofa. This particular fight was nothing new to their relationship and he was growing tired of saying the same things without getting anywhere. This was normally where he made up some lame excuse and hung up and, by the time he got home the next evening, ignore the fact that they had fought at all.

"_What_ do you want me to do?" he asked, mixed feelings of guilt and irritation.

"Well, Stephen, how about _come home_? Or am I such a monster that you cannot even leave work anymore?"

"Honey, I fell asleep. Work wears me out, it's a tough job, you know that."

"Maybe you should consider another job, then. I always thought Olivia was too ambitious for your taste anyway."

"Don't put this on Olivia," he defended loyally.

"I'm not putting it on her, I'm putting it on you," she paused and Stephen could hear her breathing on the other end of the line. "I miss you... Can't you understand that?"

Stephen could practically see her before his eyes, lying in their king-sized bed all alone, biting her lip in frustration, tears threatening to escape down her cheeks. His countenace softened.

"I know. I miss you too."

"Come home then."

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"It's almost 4. It's easier if I stay."

"Stephen-,"

"I'll see you tonight. Dinner. Make reservations?"

She sighed. "OK."

"Love you, bye." and he hung up.

He sat still for a moment, pondering in which state this relationship was, tried to recall exactly when everything began to feel so wrong and where they might have gone in the wrong direction. He tried to think clearly, find some perspective, but something seemed to be blocking his train of thought. He sighed, headed to the window and pulled out a key from under the small vase of flower standing on the window sill. He then headed over to his desk, unlocked the bottom drawer and retrieved a cigarette packet and a lighter. He then, without checking in the mirror to see if he looked somehow presentable, exited his office and headed to the balcony.

* * *

He inhaled deeply and felt the tobacco fill his lungs. Smoking was a bad habit he had abandoned years ago but, in times of stress, it was his only way to relaxation. He was leaning against the fence of the balcony, armbows resting on it. The sun was on its way up, its golden rays mixing with the clouds that were playing in the sky, as the capital city of the new world slowly awoke. He watched the smoke of the cigarette ascend into the air, a frown upon his handsome features.

"Hey smoker," Abby Whelan, his coworker and friend, approached him, a small smile gracing her lips. Her red hair had been braided into a lose braid and the clicking of her heels could be heard as she walked across the balcony floor.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping he did not sound too hostile. She, however, did not answer, but instead handed him a cup of coffee, and then turned to look out at the city beneath them. He watched her eyes as they travelled across the urban landscape and, without the slightest idea why, he smiled. Until her eyes met his, that was. They were serious and considerate; she was pointing a spot light at him, and he was not used to the attention. Then her eyes travelled down to his right hand, in which there was now a cup of coffee, but also, stuck between his index and middle finger, a cigarette.

"Coffee and cigarettes," she said, an absentminded look on her face. "I like those two words together."  
He looked at her, his mouth slightly open in awe. The wind brushed gently against his skin.

"Close your mouth, Stephen." He did.

"So," she began. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

"What if nothing _is_ bothering me?"

"You're smoking."

He swore inwardly. Of course that had tipped her off.

"Well, I could ask you the same."

"Hmm?" said she in confusion.

"What's bothering _you_, Abby?"

"Nothing. What makes you believe something's bothering me?"

"Your hair?"

"Oh." she did not even bother denying it; she knew he was right. Abby with braided hair was an unusual sight to be met by.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own worlds. The watch on his wrist ticked on in symbios with the slowly rising sun.

"I'm an asshole," the words left his lips without his head's approval. She turned so that she was facing him, eyes somehow reflecting the softness of the sky above them.

"Why would you say that?" her voice was tender and low, barely audible above the noise of the traffic on the street below. The city was waking up.

"I forgot to go home." he frowned and bit his lip in frustration. To his surprise, a gentle laugh escaped her lips. (she was not wearing any lipstick, he noted.)

"It's not funny."

"I know. I'm sorry. It just sounded a little comical."

His face broke into a smile; he could not help it. They smiled at each other without breaking their soft gaze.

"And she's mad at you." Abby stated, smile fading.

"Yes."

"I would be, too,"

"You would?" He said, surprised by how the thought of Abby being mad at him made him feel.

"Well, do you think I would be _happy_?"

"I guess not."

Abby paused for a second, contemplating what to say, it seemed.

"But do you know what she really is?"

He shook his head.

"Hurt. It's just easier to be angry. It's always easier to be angry."

Stephen frowned. "The thing is..." he began, "We discussed this when we moved in together. She knew I would be working a lot. She said she was fine with it."

"And you just simply took her word for it? God, you're stupid sometimes."

Stephen looked down at the cup in his hands and took a sip. Then he took a drag on his cigarette and slowly, slowly, did he exhale the smoke. Abby was watching him, he could feel it.

"But you're not an asshole," she continued, and stepped closer to him. Without knowing what to do, he watched as she gently removed the cigarette from his hand and took a puff herself. He was surprised beyond words. She was standing close to him and he could smell the cigarette smoke mix with her perfume.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for your health."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a paradox."

"You're such a judger."

They smiled at each other as Stephen put an arm around her shoulder and she rested her head against his. He took a sip of his coffee and stared out at the city before them which was now wide awake; his watch informed him that it was just after five in the morning.

"So..." he began. "What's on your mind?"

She stayed still in his arms. "The usual."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay," he smiled sadly, knowing she could not see his face. "Whatever you say."

* * *

_A/N: I never know how to end these things. So... random ending, I know. And if the thought of Abby and Stephen smoking bothers you, **do** tell me. It actually bothered me a little too, haha. Along with how thick headed Stephen is sometimes. But hey, no one is perfect, right? Please tell me what you think. (And by the way, does anyone know if Stephen's fiancée actually has a name? Have they ever said it on the show?)_


End file.
